


But We Were In Screaming Colour

by Lesty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon? What Canon?, Don’t copy to another site, Dramatic Colour Metaphors, Fix It Fic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Team as Family, The Avengers Live Perpetually in 2012, but it's literally one sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/pseuds/Lesty
Summary: Natasha crouched beside Steve, taking Tony’s other hand. Her voice was uncharacteristically strained as she took in the armour. “I swear to god Stark, if you’re thinking of dying now-”Tony wheezed, almost like a laugh. “Stark? I must be in trouble.”Natasha shook her head, looking towards Steve. She didn’t understand what Tony had said, how could she? Natasha was a good read, but she didn’t know Tony like Steve did. Tony’s voice was getting lower, his voice coarse, like fragmented rock tumbling down a mountain.Steve had to run into the woods.--A remix ofall the lights come on all at onceby @fanfictiongreenirises





	But We Were In Screaming Colour

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [all the lights come on all at once](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509482) by [fanfictiongreenirises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises). 



> Hey there, thanks for stopping by!
> 
> As you can tell, this is a remix of @[fanfictiongreenirises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises) work. Thank you so much for letting me do this (or well, I suppose, going along with it when I told you I was going to do it by just chanting encouragement at me haha). It's not integral to read the original to understand this fic, but obviously I recommend you read the original [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509482/chapters/43864696?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_221709478)anyway. It's a quick read, but it'll totally latch onto your emotions and not let go =D
> 
> In this work, the first 121 words are from 'all the lights come on all at once', verbatim, the rest I've added on.
> 
> Both of these works are for the Cap-IM Countdown to Avengers Endgame, and as of posting it, there's currently 3 days until the world premiere!
> 
> Also, I just want to give a shout out to the Cap-Iron Man Community Mods, they're such incredible people for not only organising these events, but for just being welcoming, warm, wonderful people. I was pretty nervous to participate in this, and they were so helpful and really helped me through my doubts, so kudos!
> 
> This fic is based off of the Taylor Swift song [Out of the Woods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLf9q36UsBk), (her new album announcement and new song comes out on the 26th, so it's a big week), if you haven't heard it, you should totally give it a listen! (the title of this fic comes from this song too)

“We had a good run, didn’t we, Winghead?” Tony asks. His voice is slow, almost—

Steve’s mind shies away from the word ‘drunk’, but that’s the best adjective. It’s soft and sleepy, hard to understand if Steve hadn’t had a short lifetime of learning to decipher its unique decibels, the meanings behind each individual intonation, the lilts and the stresses.

It brings forth a number of moments and flashes, each one brighter than the previous, even though Steve knows some of their moments were dark. But looking back at their discography… it’s hard to see anything that dims its brilliance. He and Tony shine as bright as a phoenix.

Steve stifles a sob. “Yeah, Shellhead,” he says. “We had the best.”

Natasha crouched beside Steve, taking the hand that Steve hadn’t taken. Her voice was uncharacteristically strained as she took in the armour. “I swear to god Stark, if you’re thinking of dying now-”

Tony wheezed, almost like a laugh. “Stark? I must be in trouble.”  
  
Natasha shook her head, looking towards Steve. She didn’t understand what Tony had said, how could she? Natasha was a good read, but she didn’t know Tony like Steve did. Tony’s voice was getting lower, his voice coarse, like fragmented rock tumbling down a mountain.

Thor landed beside them. “I could fly him to the nearest hospital.”  
  
“That’s too risky,” Natasha said. “You’d be going too fast and he doesn’t have protection, he wouldn’t stay stable.”

Bruce panted over the comms. "I can head to the quinjet, and bring it over."

"Can you even fly it?" Clint asked, coming towards them. He bit his lip, looking over at Tony with a wince.

"I know the basics."  
  
"That's still too far away," Natasha said.

"The emergency services are on the other side of Manhattan, what other options are there?" Clint asked.

“Guys-” Tony coughed, stopping his sentence short. Steve’s heart lurched into his throat, what use was his serum amped body if he couldn’t even _do_ anything that mattered? Tony was going to – _no,_ he wasn’t going to die, but, but-

Steve detached himself from the situation, he needed to think. The rescue services were too far away, Bruce was too far away, and Tony was in too perilous a state to move somewhere too rapidly. _Dammit_ , he wished the 21st century had gotten onto flying cars, they could beat through all the traffic.

Unless…

“I’ll take him,” Steve said, standing.

“Steve,” Natasha said. “That would have the same problem as Thor flying him.”  
  
“But it doesn’t. Thor would only be able to hold Tony with one hand, I can use both. I can hold him to my chest and run for it.”  
  
“We can’t take the armour off of him Steve,” Clint said, he was looking at the suit with almost a critical gaze. “Would you even be able to sustain it?”  
  
“I’ve got to try,” Steve said. He turned to Thor. “Help me get him off the ground.”

He was going to run them into the woods.

 

-/-

 

_Tony was sitting cross legged in front of the television, enthralled by whatever was playing. Steve took a moment to take in his appearance from the entryway._

_His hair was dishevelled, sticking up in various places and squashed on one side, like he’d been lying on it. He gazed at the television with a lazy smile, one that lit up his features despite its softness._

_Natasha’s green blanket was draped over his shoulders, hiding what Steve knew to be his purple MIT hoodie – which Tony had stolen from Rhodey, and some sort of blue track pants. He was clutching a bright pink bowl, which was half-filled with popcorn. Steve’s hands itched for a pencil, and some paper. Tony was… **colour**._

_He was bright, a collection of colour and light that had burrowed its way into the confusing darkness Steve had found himself in when he had arrived in the 21 st century._

_Steve wanted to paint with Tony’s colour. It was like before he knew Tony, he was colour blind. Now, with Tony beside him, there was colour everywhere. Over saturated, with a higher contrast, that bled into every part of Steve’s existence, because **Tony** was part of Steve’s existence._

_Steve wanted to try every colour, to blend it and incorporate it into parts of his life he hadn’t dreamed of. Tony’s colour was everywhere, in the things he touched, the words he said, the things he enjoyed, and the people he impacted._

_But in all the ways Steve was enchanted by Tony, it was his eyes that held Steve in this moment. Before Steve had known Tony, he had found people’s colour through their eyes, green’s, blues, and hazels would capture his gaze, but Tony was different. His eyes would be beautiful in any shade, because Tony’s colour came from within, and the beauty of his eyes came from the intensity, the mirth in his gaze. His sparkled as they looked on towards the television. They were warm, like the hot chocolate Tony would make for them after a difficult battle. Tony’s eyes held everything, how he though, what he felt, it was beautiful._

_It was home._

_And because of Tony, Steve was colourful too._

_But he wasn't allowed to have it, Tony was in a relationship._

_“What’re you watching?” Steve asked, picking himself off of the doorway he’d been leaning on._

_Tony turned around to smile at Steve and met his gaze. In that moment, everything Steve felt for Tony grew tenfold, Steve would give of himself what he could to Tony - whatever Tony wanted._

_“It’s a David Attenborough documentary,” Tony patted the place beside him and peeled off Natasha’s blanket. “Come join me?”_

_Steve didn’t have to be asked twice._

 

-/-

 

The team had arrived to the hospital shortly after Steve had, which Clint said was a feat, considering they’d crossed over a block to get the quinjet.

Steve was numb, pacing the hallway outside the operating room. Suddenly, Bruce was at his side, de-hulked and a hand resting on Steve’s shoulder. “He’ll be alright Steve, it’s Tony, he _always_ comes out alright.”

Then why did it feel like Steve was losing his colour.

 

-/-

 

_Steve couldn’t sleep. For once though, it wasn’t nightmares that caused it, or agitation over falling asleep. Steve just simply… couldn’t get to sleep. December was always difficult, Steve had always struggled to fall asleep when it was cold._

_“JARVIS." he asked, staring blankly into the darkness, "what time is it?”_

_“It is 3:07am, Captain,” JARVIS replied, he almost sounded tired._

_Steve could relate._

_He pulled himself out of bed and slid into the slippers he kept by the door. Maybe he would be able to make a hot chocolate half as good as Tony’s._

_The kitchen was dark when he reached it, which was strange since JARVIS normally turned on the lights to a low dimmer as Steve needed it. Steve looked up towards the ceiling. “JARVIS?” He asked. He knew Tony thought it was ridiculous that Steve looked up to the ceiling when talking to JARVIS, considering the AI was everywhere. Steve (like the rest of them, really) couldn’t help it, he needed a frame of reference. Secretly, he thought Tony kind of loved t._

_On cue, JARVIS turned the light on._

_“Thanks.”_

_“J, turn them off.” A low, gravelly voice slurred. Steve froze in his track, he knew that voice. He understood the way it accentuated words, how it stressed particular vowels, the way the f rolled on as if it wouldn’t end._

_It sounded like Tony._

_But more seriously, Tony sounded, well, he sounded flat out drunk._

_Steve bit his lip. He didn't want to have to admit that, but the only other alternative was Tony was hurt, and Steve **never** wanted that._

_“Tony?” he said softly, edging his way inside. Steve winced at the sight in front of him. Tony sat hunched over the kitchen island, clutching a bottle of scotch with weak hands, a discarded glass knocked over to his side. The sharp, pungent scent of alcohol almost knocked Steve over, settling deep seeded worry into Steve's gut. The smell burned his nose and made his eyes water, and Steve had to force himself to breathe, to not get stressed. What Tony was doing was dangerous, the smell's strength was nauseating, and that meant Tony had, had a lot to drink._

_Steve took a heavy breath, pushing his worry aside as he slipped into the seat next to Tony. He didn't speak, instead he sat the glass upright and balanced a hand on the table. In sight so Tony could see it was being offered for support, but not actually intruding on Tony's personal space. Steve had known Tony had been drinking heavier recently - since he started dating Tyberius Stone, his mind supplied. But that couldn't be right, Stone was a sleaze but Tony had always seemed happy, and he had never seen Tony drink like this, not even when he had broken up with Pepper. Although, they hadn't known each other as well back then._

_Either way, it wasn't for Steve to comment on, no matter how much he may have wanted to. However, he could be a support. “Are you okay?”_  
  
_Tony rubbed his face with his free hand. “Ty and I broke up,” he said, his speech mangled with pauses an drawn on vowels._

_Huh. Steve tried to find some sort of sympathy for Tony, break ups were evidently awful, and he wanted Tony to be happy, but he couldn’t exactly deny that he was glad Stone was gone._

_None of them had liked him, anyway._

_“It’s for the best,” Tony continued. “He wasn’t exactly well..." Tony moved his jaw, as if trying to find the words. "Nice, but well…” Tony paused his face contorting into a deep frown._

_Steve swallowed, gripping the table slightly, he had the urge to punch a specific sleazy blonde in the face. What did that mean? That Stone wasn’t nice?_

_“Tony…” he hesitated, “did he… **hurt** you?”_  
  
_Tony shrugged but didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he turned to face Steve. “Why the **hell** are you here?” he said, his voice a harsh mix of anger and self pity._  
  
_Steve tried not to recoil at Tony’s sudden change in tone. Tony was drunk and upset, Steve had to remember that. “I couldn’t sleep, I was going to make a hot chocolate,” he said softly, turning his body slightly so he wasn’t crowding Tony. “Although I doubt it would have been as half as good as yours.” He added, trying to placate him. Although, he certainly wasn't wrong._

_“Get out,” Tony spat, but he inched closer to Steve, his anger waning. “I don’t need your pity.”_

_Steve took Tony's body language as a sign and squeezed his free hand. “I’m not here to pity you, Tony. I care about you.”_  
  
_Tony was silent for a moment, staring into Steve's eyes intensely. Steve held his gaze, noting how bloodshot Tony's eyes were. His pupils were like pinpricks as Tony took him in, his gaze wavering slightly as if Tony couldn't exactly focus on something. Steve wasn't sure what Tony was looking for, what test he'd enacted that Steve had to pass, so he focused his gaze into making sure Tony was safe, that Tony **knew** he was cared for._

 _Finally, Tony sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I need to go to bed.”_  
  
_Steve nodded. “Let’s get you there.”_

-/-

 

They had been taken to a private waiting room. Natasha sat curled on one of the sofa’s, leaning into Clint who looked straight ahead at seemingly nothing. Bruce was wrapped in Natasha’s green blanket on the sofa next to Steve, his post-hulk-out tea cold by his side as he stared at the small television in the corner, his eyes glassed over. Thor was out scouting, looking for something to punch – a threat, he’d said. They all knew there wasn’t anything out there, but none of them could blame him. Steve would have joined Thor, if he could bear being farther away from Tony.

He needed something to do, a way to feel useful.

Normally, when a team member was hurt, they’d have gotten news by now, but whenever a nurse passed them, they gave them nothing but furtive glances, filled with pity.

Steve hated this, he hated waiting.

Finally, a nurse came into the room. Steve sensed more than he saw his friends perk up, their attention solely on her. “I’ll cut to the chase,” she said. “He’s stable.”  
  
A collective wave of relief rose through them, Steve immediately brightened. Good, Tony would be alright.

“For now," she added sympathetically, and Steve tensed. "It was a difficult surgery, his wrist alone needed 20 stitches. We’re keeping him in Intensive Care but,” she smiled, the kind of smile that dragged Steve's worries out of him by force, that set him at ease. “I don’t think some optimism would be amiss here.”

Bruce stood up in relief, reaching for her hand. “Thank you, Nurse…”  
  
“Palmer,” she said, shaking Bruce's hand. “I’m Nurse Christine Palmer.”  
  
“You’re amazing,” Clint said, with more life in his eyes than Steve had noticed since they arrived. “Thank you for saving him.”  
  
“He was lucky, the blow was mostly knocked off course, only one of his kidneys was punctured, and our best doctor was conveniently free,” Christine said. “He's a brain surgeon actually, so for him this was, and I quote, ‘a walk in the park’.”

Clint snorted. “Sound's obnoxious.”  
  
“Oh he is,” Christine agreed with a fond smirk, “but he’s good at his job," She put her clipboard to her side and put a stray hair from her pony tail behind her ear. "He's not out of the woods,  _yet,_ but I think Mr. Stark will be alright. We can let you visit him, but only one at a time. The IC is a bit cramped.”

“Thank you Nurse Palmer, we’ll talk about it.” Natasha said.

As soon as Nurse Palmer was gone, their gazes fell onto Steve, it must have been clear on his face, because none of them seemed to even want to suggest anything different.

“Go, Steve”, Thor said, and for a moment, Steve was guilty he hadn’t noticed Thor return earlier. “We can wait.”

 

-/-

 

_Steve was setting up the coffee machine, the morning sun warm on his back. By his side, Natasha was cooking pancakes from a batter that Bruce had made earlier. Bruce had left to find Tony, since he still wasn’t here yet. Steve chuckled to himself, Tony could often get lost in his work._

_He would have gone down to get Tony himself, but this thing they were doing was still so **new** , and he knew Tony would have preferred a fresh coffee when he arrived. If Steve had taken a coffee to Tony (because, if he were honest with himself, he always wanted to provide Tony his morning coffee just to see him smile), that would only encourage Tony to stay down in the workshop longer._

_“That is the worst paper airplane I’ve ever seen in my entirely too long existence.” Tony said, crouching down to pick it up._

_Steve turned around, and saw Tony crouching in the doorway, picking up a paper airplane. Steve smiled fondly, it was so **like** Tony to become absorbed by whatever was going on, especially since Steve hadn’t noticed Tony and Bruce come back in. Tony looked up and met Steve’s gaze, giving him a bright grin. For a moment, it was like they shared a secret, a tentative look in a crowded room._

_“Well, Clint threw it, so –”_

_“– Oh please it was you, Thor!”_

_Tony just shrugged, examining the paper. “This is tragic – no, seriously. How does this even fly? You haven’t accounted for any lift so your other forces are just going to be pulling it back to the ground. This kid isn’t getting anywhere.”_

_Clint scoffed. “Alright, come over here and fold something better.”_  
  
_“Yeah sure,” Tony said. “After coffee.” He shuffled over, making grabby hands at Steve; and really, with a – quite frankly, adorable display like that, who was Steve to deny Tony._

_Except the coffee was still hot. “Not yet Tony, I’ve just poured it.”_

_“Steve. Stevie pumpkins,” Tony said, and Steve ignored how his knees went slightly weak at the awful pet name. “I’ve had literally no coffee all day. I can’t annihilate Barton and Thor in this paper plane thing until I have one, I just don’t have the strength!”_

_Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s antics, god he was lucky. “Be that as it may Shellhead, it’s still hot.”_  
  
_Tony huffed, snatching the coffee, and Steve’s hand. “Well come down with me, I’ve got to show you something.”_  
  
_“You’re not going anywhere,” Natasha said, pointing the spatula at Tony. “These are almost done.”_

_“We’ll be like 5 minutes.” Tony said, squeezing Natasha’s shoulder._

_Natasha huffed. "You better."_

_“C’mon solider,” Tony said, weaving them out of the kitchen and past Bruce. “When I get back,” he called over his shoulder. “Get ready to be ended by my superior paper airplane skills.”_  
  
_Clint scoffed. "Unlikely."_

_“I look forward to **that**.” Thor said, crumbling a piece of paper in his hand._

_Tony took a sip of his coffee as he dragged Steve to the elevator, and hissed._

_Steve laughed. “I did say it was hot.”_

_Tony tsked. "You wound me, beloved."_

_Tony took them to the workshop, and immediately grew more antsy. “Okay so, I was going through some of Dad’s old things-”_

_Steve frowned. “Is everything okay? This isn’t another situation with the arc reactor is it?”_

_Tony shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine, but everything's still been lying around from **that** ," he said, screwing up his face slightly. "So, I figured it was time to go through the rest of it, and I found something.”_

_He set his coffee on a work bench off by the side and trotted to another, where a small box was resting on it. Intrigued, Steve followed him._

_“Look, I’m not sure if you’d still want them, but I figured, well, if I had a pair, I’d be attached, and I know you don’t have a new one so-”_

_Steve took Tony’s hands in his own. “Tony, I’m sure I’ll love it.”_  
  
_Tony nodded, swallowing. “Here.”_  
  
_Steve took a look at Tony, who looked inexplicably nervous, and down at the small box. Slowly, Steve opened the box and – **oh**._

_Oh **wow**._

_Steve’s hand ghosted over his old dog tags, the ones he had given Howard before that final battle. “Tony, this is…” he felt a grin tug at his face, it was less of a conscious decision, and more of a reaction to what Tony had done. It was incredible, the thought that would have gone into finding this, the effort Tony would have made to repair them. “Thank you.”_

_Tony grinned. “I’m glad you like them.”_  
  
_“Tony, I – you, you did this, for me. It’s incredible, **you’re** incredible.”_

_“Oh, it was nothing. It was for you so… well, yeah it was nothing.”_

_He looked up at Tony, completely awed by what Tony had done. This wasn't nothing. Tony had gone out of his way to find this for Steve, to do this completely out of the blue gesture, just to possibly see Steve happy, and he was. Steve was so happy._

_Steve buried Tony into a hug, holding him tight. Tony felt **right** in his arms, like Steve was made to hold him, and be held by him. It was the kind of hug that defined Steve’s existence. That everything he has been, and everything he ever will be, mind, body, and soul, was with Tony, and because of that, he was safe._

_This was it, this was everything Steve wanted._

_“I want to dance,” he said in the soft curls of Tony’s hair._

_Tony chuckled, moving his head to look up at him. “What? Now?”_  
  
_“Yes, now.” Steve said, dragging his arms down Tony’s own, to take in his hands._

 _"Nat will castrate us if we don't get back soon."_  
  
_Steve chuckled. "I'm willing to risk it if you are," he pulled away slightly so he could really look at Tony. “I’ve waited my entire life to find the right partner.”_

 _Tony’s expression softened. “Oh,” he scanned the workshop around them. “We’d need to move some tables to create the space.”_  
  
_Steve lit up. “Yeah?”_  
  
_“For you? I'd risk anything.”_

 

-/-

 

It was naïve, to believe they had ever stood a chance.

Steve almost laughed at how _unfair_ it was. If it had been him caught in the crossfire, he would have been fine. _He_ would have survived. But of course, he wasn’t paying attention, and Tony was paying for it – for _Steve’s_ mistakes.

Steve didn’t know what he would do if Tony didn’t make it.

Tony was frail, the hand Steve held was paper thin. He lay in the hospital bed, the thinning sheets scratching at his skin. Disinfectant hung permanently in the air, making the room stuffy with undertones of bleach and sickness. The limp curtains hung by the window, they looked like they had been washed hundreds of times, and so had lost all the life they once had, and blank white walls seemed to consume Tony, making him look small and lifeless.

There was no colour here.

Various tubes and beeping machines connected to almost every inch of Tony’s body, Steve couldn’t begin to interpret what each one did or what it meant. His eyes roamed Tony face, searching for something Steve didn’t know, couldn’t understand, but wanted to find either way.

He didn’t let go of Tony’s hand.

His eyes, Steve couldn’t see Tony’s eyes. Steve realised with a heavy start, that it was _because of him_ , that Tony’s colour was gone. Steve had taken Tony’s colour, consumed it like it was his own, because Tony had been so open, and been so willing to give it to him, and Steve had been greedy, taken everything he could get.

Now, Tony was dying, and his colour was fading.

Steve swallowed thickly, stroking Tony’s palm with his thumb. He wasn’t leaving until Tony was alright. He would leave after, he didn't want to live colour blind again, but he had to let Tony find his colour again, set him free.

 

-/-

 

Hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks. Steve stared at the polystyrene tiles that paved the roof, watching as the shadows from the trees danced in the flickering moonlight. They moved like monsters, preying on Tony, waiting for his last breath before they struck.

And Steve waited.

Nurse Palmer had said he was getting better, and eventually, he had been moved to the a section for when people were getting better, Steve didn’t know what it was called, he’d had no need to ever know. Every one he’d known who had to go to hospital, had been there because they were dying.

And he still wasn’t sure if this time was different.

Each of the Avengers had come sat vigil with him at some time or another. At one point Pepper had physically moved Steve from his chair and Thor had taken him home so he would shower, change, and get some sleep.

Whilst Steve was gone, the others took turns to make sure Tony was never alone. Natasha always stayed at the foot of the bed, eyeing both the door, and Tony.

Clint would sit beside Tony, playing a video game and telling Tony about it.

Thor sat beside Tony, leaving Mijonir at the foot of the bed, ‘for extra protection’.

Bruce would take the eating tray and use it as a make shift desk, doing some sort of theoretical science and ‘bouncing ideas off of Tony’, as he put it.

After a week, Lt. Colonel Rhodes, ‘Rhodey, please Steve, we’re not on duty, and technically, you’re not in the Army anymore’, arrived with a collection of clothes for Tony – including a new hoodie.

Pepper would take the tray Bruce used as a make-shift desk and do paperwork on it, muttering about how she was ‘covering his ass and doing your work for you, and I’m not going to be making a habit of this so you better get well and wake up already’.

Happy was probably the only other person who didn't talk when he came in. He would sit in Steve’s chair and watching wrestling matches on the television. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what _that_ was about, but he was sure that it meant something significant between Happy and Tony, so he was sure Tony would appreciate it.

As the sun crept into the horizon, Steve felt lost. One the one hand, he was grateful that Tony had this group of people who inherently cared about Tony above all else, but on the other, he didn’t know what _he_ contributed. Each one had something they could give Tony, something to lull him back to the land of the living. Then there was Steve, sitting there, fretting.

Tony did look healthier, however. His skin was warmer, there was colour to his cheeks, it was almost as if… As if Tony still had some colour for himself.

Steve was positive that no matter how long it took, Tony _would_ wake up. Even the doctor - who was obnoxious, Clint had called it, was optimistic in a way that seemed genuine. In a way though, the doctor reminded Steve of Tony, he was very-

Tony's hand twitched.

Steve froze, had he imagined it? He had to have. There was nothing else happening, no change in any of the beeping machines, and no other movement.

Then it happened again.

“Tony?” He croaked, his voice was coarse from a lack of use, he placed another hand on top of Tony’s leaning forward.

The grip on Steve’s hand tightened. “Hmm, it’s bright.” He mumbled.

“Tony!” Steve said. “You’re okay.”

Slowly, Tony cracked an eye open. “Steve,” he breathed, and it was like everything in Steve’s universe righted itself in that very instant. Steve looked into Tony’s eyes and it was like he was drowning. They were bright, they sparkled, they were colourful, they were _alive_.

Steve couldn’t breathe, Tony was here, he was alive, he was safe, and he was looking at Steve like he didn’t want to look at anything else.

“I missed you.” Steve said, his thumb ghosting Tony’s face.

Tony gripped Steve’s hand tight. “Oh Winghead, I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You almost died-” Steve choked, and his heart shattered into two. Every emotion he had absorbed, every thought he had, had burst. Steve cried, exhaustion collapsing him. Tony had almost _died_ , Steve had almost lost him, and Steve had been _helpless_.

Steve buried his head into the crisp sheets, sobbing into Tony's side, his hands clutching Tony’s. The pain and stress that had consumed him these past few weeks was leaching through him in waves, each wave threatening to flood Steve’s mind. He had been drowning without Tony, and now Tony was _here_.

And Tony was crying too, and so lifted a shaking hand and running it through Steve’s hair. There was a rawness to Tony's tears, like he too, had been containing something awful he had to let out.

Steve lifted his head up, brushing the tears off of Tony’s wobbling chin. “I love you.”

Tony gave a wobbly smile, but it was enough, for it brightened his face like the morning sun never could. Steve could feel himself brighten too, with it. “I love you too."

And they sat there, looking at each other, and Steve knew, everything would be okay.

They were out of the woods now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! 
> 
> If you'd like, you can hit me up on [tumblr](https://lesty-xx.tumblr.com/), or just leave a comment below if it takes your fancy
> 
> Have an amazing day =D


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